


kind of perfect

by rueya



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rueya/pseuds/rueya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s too afraid to look up, too afraid to face whatever judgment may be in her eyes, because he can’t measure up to the countless other people that are undoubtedly far more impressive than him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kind of perfect

He’s never been alone with a girl like this.

(No, not a girl, it’s _her_ , her of all people to be alone with.)

She looks bored — (of course, of course, he’s watched her fall asleep enough times in history class to know that she has no interest — is it inappropriate of him to say that he watched her? no, he can’t be one of _those_ unsavory individuals—) but she’s listening, leaning in as he tries to explain everything she’s struggling with.

“A-And, as you can see, the Treaty of Peace was signed in late 1951, which lead to more amicable relations with the United States in time for the beginning of the Cold War…”

He goes on, attempting to be as concise as possible, occasionally peering up from the textbook to gauge her reaction when he’s sure that her gaze isn’t resting on him.

It’s indecent, undignified to stare, but he traces every change, the way her crimson eyes widen and her shining pupils dilate as she begins to understand something, the way her lips twitch in frustration when it’s clear that she simply cannot grasp something, the way she discreetly giggles as he trips over his words—

He inhales sharply, shakily, a blush creeping up his neck and spreading through his face, the heat almost oppressive in how dizzying it is. There is so much to say to her, but now is not the time—(it will never be the time).

He loses track of the minutes and hours just as he loses himself in the sea of text and the kaleidoscopic changes of her eyes.

“Goodness, it’s already half past five? I ought to be going before it gets dark outside.”

She begins to close her books and pack them away, but he cannot force himself to move from the desk.

“Yes, of course, absolutely! Never hesitate to let me know if you need help in the future!”

He bows his head, doing his best to force a smile.

“Very well. Thank you very much.” She beams modestly. “Honestly, though, I find this material so very tedious. I might just take you up on your offer.”

He swallows and tries to steady his hands, his voice. “Certainly. Good night, Celes-kun.”

There’s a slight delay as she stands up and daintily picks up her schoolbag. He’s too afraid to look up, too afraid to face whatever judgment may be in her eyes, because he can’t measure up to the countless other people she could be asking for help, the countless other people that are undoubtedly far more impressive than him—

“Good night, Ishimaru-kun.”

—and her voice is so soft and sincere, he knows that his brain must be intentionally misinterpreting it.

She walks away, graceful as ever, her ostentatious ( _beautiful_ ) black skirt fluttering quietly behind her as she saunters out of sight.

He finally lifts his head, and his eyes linger on doorway as his chest swells and tightens with a bitter, familiar emotion.

He wonders if she’ll ever truly look at him.

(He wonders when he’ll have the courage to look at her.)


End file.
